


Six Thousand and Seven Candles

by thingswithwings



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Birthday, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-11
Updated: 2003-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Crowley could stop him, Aziraphale raised a noisemaker to his lips and blew enthusiastically. The little paper end uncurled and whapped Crowley in the nose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Thousand and Seven Candles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daegaer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/gifts).



> written for daegaer's birthday, 2003.

Once God had gone about creating the world, there was something of a ruckus in Heaven. Petty bickering over God's supposed favouritism towards humankind led to all-out hair-pulling catfights (though Michael would never admit to the particulars of the latter), and before you knew it, Lucifer and his band of not-so-merry followers were banished to Hell. Not too long after that, several minor demons complained about Crawly slithering up their legs at inopportune moments, and he was booted up towards the Earth. At roughly the same time, Michael grew weary of Aziraphale's insistence on making tea and buns to soothe everyone's tattered post-war nerves (this was particularly grating, as neither tea nor buns had yet been invented) and booted him down in the general direction of the Eastern Gate.

Believe it or not, these events all took place more or less instantaneously, as neither Heaven nor Hell have much to do with time, or with the passing thereof. As such, on the twenty-first of October, Anno Domini Two Thousand and Three, Crowley was wakened at a most unpalatable hour by the sound of cheerful knocking on his flat door.

Crowley blinked, and yet the knocking continued, accompanied now by a lively sing-song voice that brought with it a general feeling of pleasantness and well-being.

Crowley scowled, and answered the door. "Whaddaywan?" he demanded sleepily, then opened his eyes all the way. Almost against his will, he blinked again.

Aziraphale was wearing a conical hat with an elastic strap that went around the chin. It was decorated with brightly-coloured pictures of stars and streamers. The words "Happy Birthday!" jumped happily around the cardboard. The angel was holding a similarly brightly-wrapped package, done up in an excessive number of ribbons and bows and things. Before Crowley could stop him, Aziraphale raised a noisemaker to his lips and blew enthusiastically. The little paper end uncurled and whapped Crowley in the nose.

"Happy birthday, dear chap!" Aziraphale enthused.

Crowley did not move. Aziraphale's smile faltered. When Crowley finally spoke, it was with the soft, silky tones of a psychopath or a bank loans officer.

"We don't have birthdays, Aziraphale. We weren't birthed."

"Well, no, I know, but you see...today's the day we came into this world! Our first day on Earth! Worth celebrating, don't you think?"

Crowley sighed and weighed his options. "This is about cake, isn't it?"

Aziraphale blinked innocently, which was a sure sign that cake was the angel's primary motivation.

"Fine," Crowley decided. He eyed the package in the angel's hands. "I see you've got a gift there."

"It's a book," Aziraphale confided.

"I know." He put on his jacket and sunglasses. "Let's go get brunch."

Aziraphale smiled triumphantly.

"And, Aziraphale?"

"Yes?"

"Nice hat."


End file.
